


Who's It Gonna Be?

by HQ_Wingster



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, Aromantic, Asexuality Spectrum, Attempt at Humor, Bromance to Romance, Brotherly Love, Developing Friendships, Dorks in Love, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Friendship is Magic, Friendship/Love, Gen, Genderfluid Character, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Nishinoya Yuu & Tanaka Ryuunosuke are Bros, Out of Character, Queer Themes, Queerplatonic Relationships, Rival Relationship, Self-Acceptance, Slice of Life, Unrequited Love, Wisdom Teeth, wingman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-04 21:59:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11564166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HQ_Wingster/pseuds/HQ_Wingster
Summary: Futakuchi has realized a little something ever since he came to college. Rank meant everything: meant who your friends were, where you stayed on campus, dictated what you did when classes were over. While squeezing textbooks and assignments into the tiny cranium that the brain called "home".It gets a bit tricky when someone threatens to keep poking at your buttons until you explode.Meet Shirabu Kenjirou: almost at the top of his year with a 3.98 GPA in all its flaming glory, propped up like a king on an academic pedestal. His scholarships are riding on everything. Excellent grades, excellent conduct, and bringing the campus community under a worthwhile goal. If he could, Futakuchi would rub a smudge over the "excellent" on conduct."Should grades reflect on the kind of person you are?" becomes a battle of wits between the top tier and the underdogs.Who's it gonna be?





	Who's It Gonna Be?

**Author's Note:**

> an inspired work that I wanted to do for the second-years in Haikyuu. wanted to try something different since i don't write for those characters, normally.
> 
> and...i wanted to type a story that was a cliche as heck. and, this story is kind of a compilation of some strange dramas I've watched very recently. might be influenced by a movie called "Fist Fight". the cover, at least.

There were many things to fear about a dentist’s office. Other than the building anticipation that weighed down in one’s gut, ignoring the fact that the receptionist kept a running tally-mark of every frightened soul on the scheduled list.There was a high-smell that crept from beyond the glass door, beckoning an unexpected child to come closer until it was too late. Squished onto a cushioned seat, the child was then tied down with an overlarge bib to prevent spillage while masked men and women dug pliers, drills, and tubes down their mouth. Excavating bacterial gold from the stalagmites and stagelites all around the mouth-cavity. Occasionally pricking a blood trail, and a geyser would shoot out like a horror film. Splattering blood clean-across masks and dental tools in a psychopathic-nightmare.

Let’s just say, Aone didn’t like going to the dentist. But today, he wasn’t an anticipating victim. Nor, was he “gagged and bound” to a squishy seat that tilted back, giving the dentists easy-access to the bacterial gold. Laying dormant inside his biological layers. Aone was more safe than not, but it didn’t hurt to glance up at the ticking clock to his right. Counting the minutes he had left before he could leave.

He didn’t read the National Geographic magazines, secured to a wooden shelf with a string in between. Just in case, because children often take things without noticing. Aone wished that he brought his study material so that he could review over one of his classes, but it would probably intimidate the small child that sat right across from him. Quivering in her little boots because she had three cavities to clean.

_ I need to say something.  _ Aone struggled to open his mouth. What was he going to say? It’d been years since he sat in waiting room.  _ For a dentist.  _ How old was the little girl? Aone glanced over, as if he was looking at the time schedule behind the girl and her mother. The mother instinctively held onto her daughter’s hand. Aone looked away, figuring that the little girl was around six or seven. It was  _ natural  _ to be afraid of the dentist at that age, and Aone had his own horror stories from his childhood days. But right now,  _ as a university student,  _ it was his obligation-- _ no, his duty-- _ to help the little girl get through this traumatic milestone in her life.

But at the same time, Aone was already that person for someone else.  _ Futakuchi Kenji. _

His best friend from Date Tech High was strapped down somewhere, drugged repeatedly at the beginning for about five minutes-- _ it was pretty hard to ignore the screams that pierced through the glass door-- _ while a team of dentists operated on his wisdom tooth.  _ Correction,  _ four of them. Top right, top left, bottom right, and bottom left. If Aone didn’t know better, his best friend could’ve had all his bones shattered in the past forty-five minutes. Speaking of which, the operation should be ending very soon.

_ “When Futakuchi comes out, he’s going to be somewhat disorientated. Depending on how the anesthesia affects his body,” _ the receptionist told Aone about forty minutes ago, after Futakuchi’s screams died rather suddenly.  _ “Make sure he gets enough rest and when he’s taking a nap, keep his head elevated. Soft food for a few days, and then he can transition to semi-soft food later on when he’s ready.” _

The receptionist said some more things, but they kind of went through one ear and out the next for Aone. He was still pretty disturbed that Futakuchi’s cries for help stopped  _ so  _ abruptly.

“Aone Takanobu?” It was the receptionist. She peeled back her sliding glass and peeked out from her office. A clipboard of paper that Aone needed to fill out before Futakuchi could be discharged. Aone rose quickly, ready to escape. He could’ve gotten up a little slower. The little girl in front of him nearly had a heart attack and she clung to her mother for support. Aone tried to give an apologetic-look, but it probably came out as a glare.

Either way, Aone wanted to leave. As quickly as possible.

He filled out the papers. Sort of a blur, but Aone could hear the stumbling footsteps of his friend while a dentist escorted him out. Cheeks raw and puffy, Futakuchi emerged from beyond the glass door. Cotton balls drooling out from his mouth when the dentist handed him over to Aone, and Aone remained as a steady boulder while his pal cuddled up to him. Squeaking about nonsensical things while groaning at the same time.

_ “I want to go home.”  _ Futakuchi weakly smacked Aone’s arm with his fists.

To think, that Futakuchi wanted Aone to record him after the surgery. Nothing could persuade Aone to grab his phone for the documentation, and gentle-giant could only imagine the uncomfortableness that would sink into Futakuchi’s sober-mind if he watched back the footage. So instead, Aone took a rough selfie of his drugged pal before posting it onto Instagram. A single piece of  _ evidence,  _ a visual-sign that Futakuchi was okay and clearly not  _ sober  _ at the moment. Within a few minutes, Aone garnered some comments and likes from the selfie-- _ thanks to Futakuchi, who always tagged the awkward giant into all of his selfies.  _ Pretty much, a good chunk of Aone’s followers were also Futakuchi’s. One of the benefits of being friends, perhaps.

Dragging Futakuchi out the door, Aone unlocked his car and carefully settled Futakuchi down. Strapping on the seat belt and helping his pal understand the meaning of life. It wasn’t hard, but it was rather  _ difficult  _ to keep a straight-face while Futakuchi rolled his bangs back. Oblivious to the sudden charm that would’ve attracted many, if it wasn’t for his blunt mouth and attitude.

Futakuchi fluttered his eyelids. “Am I married?”

_ “Never talked about it.” _ Aone coughed into the crook of his elbow before starting up the engine. Adjusting his mirrors and with his seat belt on, the towering driver slowly pressed on the gas-pedal. Inching forward across the parking lot before galloping onto the street. Heading back to campus and to the safety behind a dorm room door. Where Futakuchi would crash for the rest of the afternoon until pain or  _ Mother Nature  _ woke him up first.

“Am I married,  _ though?”  _ Futakuchi emphasized his  _ ‘though’,  _ eyes watering because of the shape his mouth made to sound out the word. Wiping back the drool leaking from his mouth, Futakuchi stared out the window as Aone’s car wheezed past traffic and other automobiles. Aone’s fingers drummed against the steering wheel, enough of a steady rhythm to keep Aone calm.

“You’re in college.”

“I knew someone who got married in college,” Futakuchi said, raising his left hand up. Sunlight curving through the gaps between his fingers, illuminating his hand with a soft orange-tinge while an imaginary promise looped around his ring-finger. Futakuchi blinked. Nope, it was a  _ real  _ ring. A candy ring! Aone had plopped the thing onto his finger before driving out of the parking-lot earlier, and Futakuchi stared at his goofy pal. An equally goofy grin over his own face, but Futakuchi’s puffy cheeks just made the whole scene more disgusting than it had to be. But at least, Futakuchi was enjoying himself and he feebly licked his candy ring while Aone popped on some music to keep his pal occupied.

When they got to the dorm building, Futakuchi said that he can go back to the room by himself. Nothing to fear because he was  _ Futakuchi Kenji,  _ underdog-extraordinaire. The whimsical dance routine that he pulled off didn’t convince Aone, but the gentle-giant needed to park his car so he agreed to let Futakuchi go.

“You’re not working at Starbucks for awhile. Remember that.” Aone rolled up the passenger-window before driving off, looking for a sizable parking-spot that he could easily maneuver himself out from later on. Futakuchi spun on the balls of his feet, clicking finger-guns at Aone’s car before blowing the imaginary smoke off from his index-fingers. Keys and phone juggling around in his pockets, Futakuchi pulled off some step-sequences as he partied his way down the sidewalk and into the dorm building.

Twirling his hands with the freshman girls, sophomore boys, and senior class-representatives. Reenacting some legendary moves from the  _ Elvis-Man  _ and the  _ King of Pop  _ before his bleeding mouth had some other ideas, so Futakuchi dashed to the elevator. Slapping his hands over all the floor buttons, slowly watching the electronic number above the sliding door.

Slowly rising to the fifth floor before Futakuchi stumbled out. Moonwalking his way to his and Aone’s shared room. Rustling the keys from his pockets, swishing his hips like  _ Elvis  _ before collapsing onto the springy-mattress that was called a “dorm bed”. From there, the impressive moves fizzled out from Futakuchi, and the young man clutched his jaw. Easing into acceptance as his pain mellowed him out.

It took three more years than expected, but Futakuchi finally got his wisdom-teeth removed. Never again, did he have to worry about infections or a bacterial cesspools hiding behind the boulders that dentist everywhere called “wisdom-teeth”. Never again, did Futakuchi have to wake up in the middle of the night, feeling a toothpick jab dully at his gums.  _ Over and over again.  _ Never again, did Futakuchi have to floss over and around his wisdom-teeth. Sometimes, Aone had to step in to help because the Futakuchi didn’t have enough hands for the job.

Peeling his jacket off, Futakuchi tossed it onto his office chair. Ripped off his candy ring and saved it in the fridge for another time-- _ why lick when you could bite?  _ And then, curling under his  _ Toy Story  _ blanket, gazing dully at the new paint that clothed the dorm room.

Just four weeks into the school year, and Futakuchi was reminded of his rank. Didn’t help that he taped the ungodly number from the previous year right above his bed. So that every time he woke up, the  _ cursed  _ number would remind him  _ again  _ of who he was.  _ Nobody.  _ Just another face among thousands in a flourishing campus. While everyone else had good jobs waiting for them on the other side, Futakuchi would probably have to take two more years above everyone else. If he was an  _ engineer,  _ that was to be expected. Since he was majoring in  _ liberal arts,  _ that was a knife-wound that Futakuchi couldn’t recover from.

There was a fanfic he had to update, easy assignments to turn in, quotes for discussions, and he had to do this  _ conference  _ with some classmates. Futakuchi groaned.

_ Just take it easy,  _ he told himself. Today was Friday. No afternoon classes. Tomorrow was Saturday, and he had no classes scheduled. The day after that was Sunday and because of the Lord’s work, there were  _ also  _ no classes. Which meant, Futakuchi had two and a half days to get his shit together while his gums recovered from a recent manhandling. Easing out from bed, Futakuchi swished his pockets for his phone while he turned on his laptop. Scrolling through some fanfic he bookmarked later to read, checking the statistics on some of his works, and staring at the godforsaken blank page for his newest work. He’ll have to skip out on a weekly update for just this once. He could update with an author’s note, but that was cheesy as hell. And at the moment, Futakuchi didn’t need sympathy for his losses, but someone to talk to before a notification buzzed across his phone.

_ 4:00 p.m. - Study Session in the Library _

Futakuchi’s eyebrow twitched.  _ Study session?  _ When did he... _ Ah,  _ he remembered now. The anesthesia made his memory fuzzy, but Futakuchi managed to make out a simple scenario. Judging by the classes he had this week.

Let’s see, Organic Chemistry was earlier on Monday and Futakuchi had no idea what his professor was talking about. The worst part was that the woman had divided the class into groups of four at the beginning of the semester. And next week, Futakuchi was supposed to lead his group on a lab that he barely understood. Recognizing the endless scribbles and agony clear-across Futakuchi’s face, the current-leader took pity, waving a wing over Futakuchi’s shoulder when class ended that afternoon.

_ “Four o’clock on Friday, meet me in the library.” _

Futakuchi glanced up. Meeting the eyes of  _ Rank One, Shirabu Kenjirou.  _ If there was such a thing as disdain in a single glance, Futakuchi felt the disdain in the form of needles. Pricking and digging through his skin while the copperhead-- _ Shirabu might as well be a snake at this point-- _ looked down on Futakuchi, as if the latter was an insignificant  _ bug  _ on his blooming GPA.

Frankly, it pissed Futakuchi off, and he shook his fist. Remembering the haughty,  _ know-it-all _ smirk that leaned across Shirabu’s lips. Curse that image, but what was Futakuchi going to do? He needed to rest after his surgery, but he  _ also  _ needed to know how to handle the lab for next week. Too many choices, not enough time.

Futakuchi checked the time again. It would take him about twenty minutes to make it to the library-- _ will show up late, but “oh well” at this point.  _ Might as well bring a peace offering and hope that the  _ pom-pom tiger _ from this year’s  _ Top Tier  _ doesn’t maul him half-to-death.  _ Actually, _ if Shirabu tried to hurt him, it would kick the shorty down a peg or two.  _ Not too bad, _ in Futakuchi’s opinion.

First things first, he needed an ice pack and pronto. There was a Starbucks between the dorm and the library, the exact place where Futakuchi and his pals work out during their downtime.  _ Pefect.  _ Grab a little treat and a pack of ice, and then arrive with style.

Futakuchi scribbled a messy note and taped it onto Aone’s side of the room. Hoping that the BFG-- _ Big Friendly Giant-- _ would notice it before calling the campus cops because of local-kidnapping. Shoving his laptop and some O-Chem notes into his backpack, Futakuchi was out the door. Spitting cotton balls into a trashcan on the way, praying to some deity out there that he won’t be a slobbery mess by the time he made it to Starbucks.

He passed by Aone, hollering that he had to go somewhere. There came a time where Aone used to follow Futakuchi whenever the young man was up to something, but this wasn’t one of those times. Futakuchi was very grateful for that.

If he jogged at a constant speed, he should encounter Starbucks in about eight minutes. Sadly, cyborgs weren’t part of the college-life yet. Still exhausted from his surgery, Futakuchi slowed down to a shuffle. Trekking over the hilly sidewalks and borderline-mountainous streets that made up the college campus. By the time he reached Starbucks, twenty minutes had passed and Tanaka gave him a free cup of water when Futakuchi crawled up to the ordering line. Panting and with blood drooling out from his mouth, at the same time.

Tanaka placed an empty cup under Futakuchi’s chin.

“An ice pack and a blueberry scone,” Futakuchi added, slapping down a few dollars across the countertop. Wiping back his blood, the youth dragged his finger around in circles. Doodling imaginary shapes by the time Ennoshita,  _ who was in the back,  _ tossed up an ice pack and Tanaka caught it with one hand. Handing it over to Futakuchi, and a small moan escaped from Futakuchi’s lips when he rested his jaw against the frozen comfort. Tanaka almost didn’t hear Futakuchi’s whisper.  _ “Sorry, but Terushima has to fill my shift for a few days.” _

Tanaka rolled his eyes, tapping his fist against Futakuchi’s when he collected the latter’s money. “No prob, homie. Eat well and rest up. It’s not like it’s the first time Teru had to do this.” He gave Futakuchi back his change. On cue, Nishinoya was in the sweets’ section. A goodie bag in one hand, a pair of tongs in the other as the enthusiastic coworker tucked a blueberry scone to-go while juggling another college student’s order. A sort of Asian-style, iced coffee-- _ half-and-half with three pumps vanilla, one pump caramel, and a dump of sweetener over a fresh brew.  _ Serve and enjoy!

Nishinoya gave Futakuchi his sweet treat, and the latter stared at his pal.

Let’s see, hair spiked up with gel. With a stubborn, blonde strand curling over Nishinoya’s forehead, bouncing up and down with the juggling of college orders on the line. Regular sneakers, maybe they were tennis shoes? Futakuchi couldn’t tell, and he didn’t want to jump over the counter to find out. Let’s see, clothes tucked in and Nishinoya’s work apron wasn’t tied in the back. Just free-hanging around the neck while the apron, itself, flowed around like a fluid dress. Yeah, Futakuchi wasn’t going to get anywhere if he didn’t ask.

_ “Hey Noya~” _ Futakuchi popped his voice in a valley-ish way. Blame Aone and those country-romances that they watched last weekend.  _ “What’s today’s special?” _

“A Strawberry Frappe with  _ he  _ and  _ him  _ on the side.” Nishinoya winked, enough to garner a laugh from Tanaka before he called out someone’s order. Rolling the back of his shoulders as he tossed the customer their icy drink.

“You're  _ amazing:  _ Noya, Ryuu, Bossishita! Never forget that!” Futakuchi kissed his farewells to his coworkers before rushing out, heading to the library. Ennoshita poked his head up from behind the store counter. An ice pick and shovel were more appropriate for Antarctica than the back-counter of Starbucks. However, Ennoshita completed his uniform with earmuffs, even though it was ninety degrees out.

“You two should’ve stopped him,” he sighed, squatting down to chip away at the mini-Antarctica residing in an ice chest. “He shouldn’t be out while he’s recovering.”

“Leave him be.” Tanaka ringed up someone's order, counting out the change to give them before clicking in a friendly wink when he passed up an energy bar to the chirpy athlete. “It's been awhile since I've seen Kenji in a hurry.”

Meanwhile, about another twenty minutes later, Futakuchi nursed himself with his free water and ice pack while cradling a scone-offering with one arm. Not exactly the position he wanted to be in, but he was already running late and it would be a damn miracle if Shirabu hasn't ditched him yet.

Pulling back the heavy-set doors, Futakuchi was blasted by the air conditioning and the rustling pages and whispers that reverberated off of the ancient, wooden shelves. Sort of like he took a step into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, with the endless rows and columns of shelves along with the stern librarian. Whose eyes followed Futakuchi like a falcon's, all because he had a sweet treat on his person. Best to ignore and keep moving, something that Futakuchi had no complaints about.

He didn't have Shirabu’s number.  _ Great. Rank One  _ could've been anywhere, but Futakuchi had a feeling that if he kept walking, he'd find the bastard and get this over with. The deeper he went into the library, the stranger the atmosphere felt. As if Futakuchi was a daring pawn, creeping across a chessboard while a _ Rook  _ watched his every move. Allowing him to come closer before blocking his path. Futakuchi felt more stares, people glanced up from their textbooks to get a good look of him. Stupid to think that the library was split into quarters because of ranking, but it wasn't a bad theory when Futakuchi walked into the heart of the  _ Top Tier. _

Glossy, wooden desk seated in the middle as a bored Shirabu wasted his hour with a book. Futakuchi pulled up a seat, sitting across from the  _ pom-pom tiger.  _ Tossed the blueberry scone to Shirabu’s side before resting his chin on his ice pack. Shirabu didn't even glance up.

“You're late.”

“I showed up.” Futakuchi pulled out his notes and laptop, clicking through a few things. Now ready for his study session, but Shirabu got up and pushed aside Futakuchi’s peace offering.

“There's no reason for me to teach you when you didn't deem this study session as important in the first place.” Short, bitter words. Almost a staccato, but Shirabu deliberately stretched his comment. To make sure that his stance was clear.

“I had an appointment,” Futakuchi mumbled, opening his mouth and exposing the bleeding mess deep inside. “Okay, I knew I was going to be here late. Was still polite to show up with a treat, at least.”

“I've lost almost an hour that I can't have back.”

“Your study partner is here.” Futakuchi leaned back in his seat. “You can exchange that hour for  _ this  _ one.”

_ “Partner?”  _ It was as if Futakuchi insulted Shirabu’s pride, and the former suspected as much when a nasty temper bubbled from Shirabu’s cauldron. “Do you think I arranged this because I wanted to?”

“If you lead a clueless brick to do something, your grade suffers too,” Futakuchi said, batting his eyelashes. Propping his elbows onto the study table, resting his chin over with an innocent tilt. “Both of us don't want to be here, so stop bitching and help me study.”

Futakuchi had a valid point. Cursing had to be done to reach a common ground between him and Shirabu. And, Futakuchi wasn't two dollars poorer because he wanted to. He pushed the blueberry scone back to Shirabu, and the latter tore off tiny bites with his fingers. Forced to set aside his book to retrieve his study materials. While Futakuchi kicked back and relaxed. For about twenty seconds before Shirabu got his sweet, sweet revenge.

Five minutes later, Futakuchi was more confused than before. Almost as if Shirabu deliberately used vocabulary that wasn’t part of their curriculum, or in life. Either way, when Shirabu finished explaining the basics, Futakuchi immediately asked him to repeat the past five minutes. It was Shirabu’s turn to rest his chin over his propped hands.

“If you keep asking me to repeat things, you’re not going to understand it the first time.”

“How am I supposed to understand when you’re mocking me?” Futakuchi bit his back his tongue afterwards. No point in lashing out now. Shirabu just looked at him, smugly. As if he knew a secret, but two could play at that game. Futakuchi narrowed his eyes. “Besides, it doesn’t hurt to use layman terms when helping somebody out.”

“I rather not insult their intelligence any further.”

One strike. Like an arrow stabbing through Futakuchi’s head. No, he couldn’t fight back. That was what Shirabu wanted. The bastard wanted some entertainment for having to waste  _ another  _ hour of his precious time.  _ Ooh.  _ Futakuchi steadied his breathing.

He couldn’t learn like this. Not with Shirabu on the other side, hogging all the notes that Futakuchi couldn’t copy for the past few lessons. Futakuchi lifted his chair and came around the table, scooting close to an irritated Shirabu. Didn’t matter at this point. Futakuchi was going to get his hour’s worth.

_ “What are you doing?” _

“Learning better,” Futakuchi hissed, immediately clutching his jaw afterwards. Ruptures of pain and blood attacked him at random intervals, so Futakuchi pressed a hand over his mouth and asked Shirabu to re-explain the past five minutes.

“Can you draw a basic molecular structure?”

“I took Chemistry in Date Tech High.” Futakuchi grabbed a pencil and started doodling across his notebook. Sketching out a water molecule and sliding it over to Shirabu. He didn’t look down. Shirabu said the name of a compound off the top of his head, told Futakuchi to sketch out the structure and label the parts. Simple and easy.

Futakuchi needed clarity.

“I named a compound that I wanted you to draw. Sketch it, label the parts and the elements. Simple.”

“Do I get a periodic table?”

Shirabu wavered, slouching back in his seat as Futakuchi typed furiously on his laptop. Pulling up a periodic chart before sketching out a chain of shapes and little connecting-sticks.

“Don’t forget to describe the bonds. Single, double, or triple.”

Futakuchi managed  laugh, like coughing up spit to shine someone’s shoes. “No wonder you’re the  _ pom-pom tiger  _ of the  _ Top Tier.” _

Shirabu narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“First off, you’re always so moody when you’re tutoring people. Like a big cat toying with a teeny mouse before swatting it away, looking for something better to play with.” The words piled out from Futakuchi’s mouth so easily, and he didn’t stop there. “You also got a bad temper and a real nasty way of dealing with it. Have you got no patience? That’s like one of the first things you learn in primary school.”

Shirabu snapped his mechanical pencil.

“I don’t know where  _ pom-pom  _ came from, but it’s probably because you’re usually sucking up to whatever the higher ranks are doing,” Futakuchi mused, nodding to himself as if he,  _ too,  _ held a secret. “I guess it isn’t easy when you’re  _ not  _ Number One. But I guess, that also makes you Hu--”

_ “Shut up.” _

The phrase was barely higher than a whisper, but everyone around Shirabu and Futakuchi stopped to glance at them. Making Futakuchi blush a bit, but that was because of the drugs coursing through his blood. Futakuchi waved at a few people with his clean hand before looking down at Shirabu, watching a volcanic eruption happen before his eyes.

The pawn had finally outsmarted the  _ Rook,  _ touching the other side of the chessboard. Upgrading into a  _ Knight. _

_ “Did I hurt your feelings?” _

Shirabu tensed up. Futakuchi didn’t back down. Not when he had the  _ pom-pom tiger  _ chewing on his own tongue for awhile. Since Shirabu had some fun, didn’t hurt for Futakuchi to play too.

“Being a genius must be a hard life.” Futakuchi patted Shirabu’s shoulder with his clean hand. “Always got these expectations, and you got to slowly pluck away the people that you could’ve been just to be another clone of someone else. No wonder you’re out of touch with the campus com--”

Shirabu yanked Futakuchi’s hand off of him, slamming the extremity onto the study table. A crack of an echo reverberated around the library, people getting up from their seats to look. To see what was going on. Futakuchi kept a straight face, but he was wincing inside. He shoved Shirabu away from him with his other hand. His blood flowed freely out from his mouth and onto his notes. Onto Shirabu’s notes. Cutting across the empty space between them, and Futakuchi tore a chunk off of the sacrificial blueberry scone and stuffed it into his mouth. Soaking up all the blood and drool that he couldn’t contain.

Shirabu had enough. Voice shaking when he spoke.  _ “Don’t act like you know me.” _

Futakuchi spat his blueberry scone onto his hands, holding the gooey mess for later. Wincing at the fire that erupted over his bleedy gums. “Then don’t do the same for me.”

_ “It’s so easy to.”  _ Something definitely cracked inside of Shirabu because he started laughing, and Futakuchi didn’t like it one bit.  _ “Look at you.”  _ Shirabu pulled back his bangs, and Futakuchi saw the eyes of a  _ killer. “While most of us will graduate in two years, you’ll still be hanging around. Trying to get enough credits for your liberal arts major.” _

“Are you calling me stupid?”

_ “I think you want me to. _ ” Shirabu gathered his things and dropped them into his satchel. “Face it, Futakuchi. You’ve already set your life up for failure.”

You could almost hear a pin drop somewhere in the library.

_ “Want to bet on it?”  _ Futakuchi struggled with his words. Bits of blueberry scone clogging up his surgery-spots, irritating the  _ Hell  _ out of his gums. The young man struggled onwards. “Being successful doesn’t necessarily mean having the best grades. It’s  _ also  _ about fostering community among your peers and the society you live in.”

“Which I doubt you’ve done.”

“Which I doubt you’ve ever  _ did  _ because you just volunteered for snazzy scholarships!”

Futakuchi knew he hit below the belt. A bad, low blow.

Shirabu was about to say something, but he closed his mouth instead. As if what Futakuchi had said was true and perhaps, it was. But in reality, not many people would want to admit it.

_ “Why not we propose a challenge?” _ A third voice rang out from behind Shirabu, and the latter went pale in the face when he turned around. Futakuchi squinted as a figure emerged from behind a bookshelf. A nice smile on the stranger’s face, but Futakuchi didn’t believe in it for a second.

Miya Atsumu,  _ the current-Rank One of their year.  _ Walking into the fray like  _ Alexander the Great,  _ brandishing his coat of arms and his cape of leadership over the battlefield.

“What kind?” Futakuchi was the first to speak, and Shirabu hissed at him to keep quiet.

“Let the man speak,” Miya ordered, a different kind of  _ power  _ surging in his voice. He looked at Futakuchi with friendly curiosity, but the latter suspected something sinister lurking from behind. He didn’t realize that he was shaking until after Miya spoke. “A challenge between the best and the worst of our year. Strictly speaking from a GPA-standard,” he added. “We’ll see if grades really do matter in the grand scheme of things.”

If there was one other thing that Futakuchi worried about, it was the methodical steps that Miya took when he passed the former. As if he was yanking the chain that was tied around Futakuchi’s neck, and Futakuchi couldn’t do anything about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is either one of the most stupidest ideas I've had, or I found something that's quite enjoyable. But damn, Futakuchi/Shirabu is as rare-pair as you can get. The pairing is so rare that I can hear it mooing in the background because my steak dinner is running away, munching on some grass.


End file.
